“Oh he’s fine. He’s soused is what he is. You, me, Sadie . . . we all gave him a good couple finger licks of the whisky as the doctor instructed, and now Jonathan is out of his misery, but I am stuck in mine!”
“What the bloody hell do you mean?”
“These!”
He stared at the front of her shift where she was lewdly indicating her bountiful breasts by her open hands cupped around them. The moment she touched them though, he saw her wince.
“He has not eaten anything of any consequence in two days! I am a cow. I need milking! And your son is not keeping up with his end of the bargain! I’m about to explode,” she sobbed. Then as tears ran down her face, she crumpled and had to hold on to a chair back to keep from falling to the floor as she fell into it. “It’s so painful, they are so hot. And I fear the onset of the milk fever Madeline warned me about,” she continued as tears continued to wash down her face.
He walked over to her, lifted her into his arms and strode with her to the divan where he sat with her in his lap. Before she knew what he was about, he tore open her gown, pushed the fabric aside and bent his head. The moment he latched onto her nipple she cried out in agony, but then as he continued to suckle her, she felt the let down ease through her and her milk began to flow with ease. The relief was immediate.
As his mouth filled with her, he drank greedily, marveling at the taste, texture and the impossible miracle of her life-giving milk. Her sobs of distress had become whimpers of relief, so he moved to her other breast and used his suctioning mouth to start that one pumping as well. Then he sat back in wonder and watched as both breasts dribbled then streamed milk in white rivulets down her chest, drenching the folds of the gown that had been pulled to her waist.
It was the most erotic thing he had ever seen and after a few moments of stunned amazement, he determined not to let the bounty go to waste. He licked the excess from the pool at her navel, following the wet trail up to each tip. She was back from the threshold of pain and now plunging over the edge toward ecstasy. She ran her fingers through his tousled hair and held his head tight to her, moaning and sighing as intense pleasure swamped her.
He had one hand around her shoulders holding her upright, but the other was free to roam, lightly caress, stroke, and drag the hem of her gown up her thighs. He cupped her furred mound and found where her curls were moist. He groaned against her breast as his fingers delved lower, smoothing and spreading the silky slickness he found there until he could hold off no longer, and slid his middle finger inside. She gasped, arched against the palm of his hand where he cupped her, and began a series of violent spasms that clenched around his finger. As he held her in his arms, he felt her come apart under his lips . . . tongue . . . teeth, as he softly continued to abrade her nipples and suck. She shuddered and cried out his name. His blood thickened in his groin and he had to reposition her in his lap to keep his cock from prodding and searching out an inviting channel for his own relief.
She sighed and slumped against his chest, and then finally opened her eyes to meet his. A telltale flush covered her upper chest and was now rising up her neck. She whispered a heartfelt thank you, adding, “I feel ever so much better now. I don’t feel like an udder ready to burst. And thank you for the rest as well, that was delightful. Amazing really.”
He reluctantly lifted his head, looked unabashedly at her lovely nakedness then forced himself to meet her glassy eyes once more. Her tear stained cheeks reminded him what his undertaking had been when he’d ripped open her gown. “I sincerely apologize on my son’s behalf. But next time Jonathan isn’t able to nurse, just call me. I assure you, I’ll be more than happy to take care of the problem.” He kissed each tip lightly then lifted her high in his arms as he stood, and then with the ease of a man who was familiar with farm work, he lowered her into the tub, gown and all.
He couldn’t take his eyes away from where the wet fabric clung to the shadowed vee between her thighs. Where her gown had been pulled low, leaving her chest uncovered, he saw two thin streams of white snaking to the surface, a foot apart. This was the relief she had sought from the hot water.
She sighed and smiled dreamily up at him. He smiled down at her and grinned. “I like my way better.”
“I believe I do as well.”
He sat and watched her as she relaxed in the hot water. Then asked if he should call for one of the maids to attend her.
“No, I’ll be fine now. Jonathan should be back on schedule in the morning. He should be ravenous as he’s missed several feedings.”
“Will you have enough for him?”
“That is the odd thing, the more he feeds the more is replaced and added on to. Since you were so . . .” she searched for the right word.
“Eager to help?”
“Yes, eager to help,” she said flushing bright red despite the heated water already warming her. “I’m sure there will be more than enough for him when he awakens.”
“Good, then I’ll leave you to your bath. Unless you need me to help you get out when you are done?” he offered.
“No,” she demurred. “I can manage.”
“Well, call if you need help. I will admonish my son on the morrow for his thoughtlessness.”
She chuckled, “I can only hope he is not pixilated or suffering a throbbing head from over imbibing.”
Thorne shut the connecting door behind him and closed his eyes tightly as he leaned his head against the back of the door. Speaking of throbbing heads . . .. He brushed the erection he’d had since he’d torn her gown away from those lovely full breasts. He could still taste the sweetness of her skin; feel the heat as it had radiated from her. He groaned and unbuttoned his breeches and envied Jonathan his morning meal as he pulled on his cock, tugging it violently as he shuddered and spilled into his hand.
Chapter Twenty-seven
The earl had finished studying the end-of-the-year estate ledgers, and heaved a huge sigh of relief that things had gone so well for him and his tenants, with both the harvests and the livestock. Satisfied, he pushed away from his desk and made his way slowly up the stairs to the dark and quiet warren of hallways to check on his son.
He thought about Christmas. He smiled as he slowly made the climb to the upper level. The holiday had been more joyous than he would have thought possible just a few weeks ago. He was pleased, and looking forward to more holidays, more festivities. He was oddly gratified. The future looked bright again.
He was standing over Jonathan, enjoying the peacefulness of the night and the contented smile on his son’s cherubic face when he heard what could only be described as a cry of distress coming from the connecting room where Catherine slept. Unsure what to make of it, but fearing she was in pain or in the throes of a nightmare, he quickly crossed to the door that was kept ajar so she could hear Jonathan, and pushed it open.
Totally unprepared for the sight he saw, thanks to the guttering candle on her night table, he stood enthralled. Catherine’s eyes were pinched tightly shut; a grimace creased her face, and tangled bedclothes were wrapped low around her thighs as the fingers from one hand pinched a distended nipple through her thin shift. The fingers of her other hand played up and down her dewy slit. Exposed, it glistened with a moist sheen in the meager light. He could make out the sucking sounds of fingers working her wet flesh.
Thorne stood mesmerized at the sight as he listened to her frustrated whimpers. Clearly, she was a novice at this, as her finger play was erratic at best, and to his mind, her clitoris was certainly not being paid the proper attention for the desired result.
Stepping closer he breathed in the scent of her. His nostrils flared at the enhanced feminine aroma. His penis became painfully erect. He could no longer deny his attraction to her, and he certainly could not watch her suffer her passion driven lust without assisting her. He’d spent far too many nights like this—needy and u
nwanted—to dismiss it out of hand. He stepped forward. Her eyes popped open and he bent to stare directly into liquid pools of brilliant emeralds. Her amazingly expressive eyes were now wild with shock.
“Let me ease your pleasure,” he whispered against her cheek before capturing her lips with his. She tasted of lemon and chamomile, and the raspberry sorbet she was so very fond of in the evenings. He enjoyed the taste of her, and explored the textures of her mouth as she absorbed the shock of him being there and the humiliation of him catching her toying with herself.
His mouth molded to hers and his tongue delved deep, stoking fires and heating them both in escalating waves of intense pleasure. His lips trailed up her jaw, nibbling and licking her smooth skin until he reached her ear, where he breathed warm air into the hollows he found there, “Let me show you how this is done.”
He removed her left hand from her breast and used his thumb and forefinger to pluck at her soft, capped nipple until it was engorged and peaked tall. She whimpered and he smiled with evil intent down at her.
He treated her other breast to the same treatment and died a small death at each of her soft gasps of pleasure. He reached down and removed her other hand from between her thighs, brought it to his lips and licked the dew from each of her fingers. As his eyes bored into hers, he sucked each wet fingertip into his mouth, savoring her woman’s dew and letting her see how much he relished it. Then he placed her hand at her side and inserted his own hand between her thighs, gently nudging her smooth thighs further apart as his hand was so much larger than hers had been.
As his long middle finger ran the length of her slit she shuddered. He slicked her by going back and forth until he had captured enough of her essence to ensure a smooth entry. His finger eased into her partway, and then sensing an easing in the tightness, he forcibly penetrated her, causing her to gasp in surprise. He smiled wickedly at her reaction and placed his thumb on her clit using it to press and play on her. Circling and pressing, rubbing in all directions, he watched her face as she moaned and surrendered to him, to his knowing touches. Her thighs opened wider, her back arched, and he felt the tiny nub he was stroking burgeon and bloom, then shimmer and shudder under his thumb as she exploded. He had just enough time to cover her mouth and swallow her high-pitched scream. He reveled in her passion. His heart leapt at the knowledge that he could do this to her—make her so wanton—and so effortlessly.
The fact that he wanted to crawl into her bed and do this to her for hours shocked him. He wanted her as he had never wanted another woman, and he didn’t know how to deal with that knowledge. Then it came to him that he had violated his nursemaid; he had come into one of his servant’s rooms without being asked, and he had violated her when she was at her most vulnerable. What kind of man was he? He never abused his staff. Never.
Yet looking down at her, he couldn’t help but be moved. She was lovely, and she was smiling up at him as if happy to see him, obviously pleased that he had given her her woman’s pleasure.
“I should not—” he began.
She reached up and her fingers covered his lips. “Shhh. Let’s not ruin this by talking of it. I don’t know what’s going on with my body lately, but it seems I crave a man’s touch, and there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do about it. Thank you. Maybe now I can sleep. Your son will be waking me shortly to suckle me and start this cycle all over again,” she said with a sheepish grin.
He smiled down at her and his eyes were bright with humor. “I am at your service whenever your needs overwhelm you again.” He kissed her on her forehead and drew the covers up over her exhausted body. “Sleep and dream good dreams.”
Thorne blew out the candle and made his way through Jonathan’s room to his own bedchamber. Once there, he poured himself a snifter of brandy and sat in front of the glowing embers in the fireplace sipping and sniffing his fingers. She smelled wonderful, so heady was her fragrance that he felt he could swoon from it. He wondered how long he could go without washing this hand, the hand that had touched her so intimately, the finger that had delved so deeply inside her.
After a few minutes he stood and stripped off all his clothes. In front of the dying fire, one foot propped on the hearth, he stroked his erection with his less dominant left hand. He would not sully the other and lose her fragrance. Not yet.
His mind brought back the image of Catherine, lying open to his gaze, her ample breasts heaving as she shuddered and came for him. He groaned and closed his eyes but knew he hit his mark by the hiss as his own orgasm shook him and streamed into the embers.
Weary, he wiped himself clean and climbed into his high bed. Yes, it had been a good year. The harvest had been more than satisfactory; the cattle had greatly increased; he had a son, and a nursemaid that could fuel his fantasies for years to come. But he couldn’t help thinking as he lay there, how much better his life would be if the woman not forty feet away, were sleeping next to him in his bed instead of in his dead wife’s bed.
Chapter Twenty-eight
The next morning Catherine found a single rose and a sealed notecard on her dresser. When she opened it, she stood staring, the blush creeping up her neck, to her cheeks, and into her hairline warming her and making the fire Sadie was building in the grate unnecessary. Opening the envelope, she pulled out the card and read:
Will you be needing any assistance tonight?
Why that cheeky man! She made an excuse not to take Jonathan down to breakfast. She could not bring herself to face the earl, so great was her shame.
When Sadie came to announce that the earl was waiting with the pram, she lied and said she had twisted her ankle on the edge of the carpet and gave the baby up to her to take down to him.
As dinnertime approached, he rightfully figured that she would avoid him again, and denied her that option. A note was sent up saying he would be joining a colleague at the local tavern to discuss implementing the plans for installing electricity to the manor.
Catherine was both relieved and chagrinned. A tray was sent up that she picked at.
She was sitting on the settee, her legs curled under her, reading more of Lady Chatterley’s Lover when she heard the earl come down the hall and enter his chambers. She waited to see if he would come to check on Jonathan, but he did not. She wondered if he was mad at her.
Reading the love scenes in the book had inflamed her sensibilities and she was . . . well, she was itchy. Again.
She got up to pace, and as she did so, she became even more agitated. She was filled with a longing so intense she had taken to secretly naming herself Lusty Busty in the snippets of fantasies she daydreamed. She had a fierce, passionate hunger—but not for food. No, what she was yearning for was more of Thorne’s kisses, more of his tantalizing caresses . . . more of his exploring fingers, lips, and tongue.
The excerpt she had read over and over, possibly fifteen times in the last hour, ran through her head: From her breast flowed the answering, immense yearning over him, she must give him anything, anything.
She moaned and sank back onto the settee. Had any words been more perfectly written for her? She stared at the floral wallpaper above her bed, not seeing the delicate rosebuds and trailing stems, but seeing a man’s hands caressing her backside, a man’s lips devouring hers, a man’s rigid erection claiming her.
She stood and crossed the room. At the door that connected her rooms to the earl’s, she dropped her robe. As bold as Lady Chatterley, she pushed open the door that was always left ajar, and strode naked into the room.
Expecting to find Thorne in bed, she was startled when he turned from the fire and faced her. He had recently stirred the banked embers back to life, for the fire was crackling and very much alive as it lit the room and cast a golden light on her naked body.
“My God,” he whispered.
Shy all of a sudden, she moved to shield herself behind a chair.
; He was on her in a flash. “Oh no, it is far too late for that.”
He scooped her off her feet and carried her to his bed, placing her in the center, on top of the pillows and turned down bed linens.
He stood at the foot of the bed, towering above her, his hair brushing the tassels of the canopy hanging off the tester, as he was so tall. As he began stripping off his clothes, his eyes never left her body, roaming freely, drinking in her lovely form.
“My God, you are beautiful,” he said as he undid his tie and opened his shirt. Catherine’s eyes widened at the broad expanse of his furred chest, the impossibly wide shoulders, the corded muscles of his arms as the shirt was dropped to the floor. When his hands moved to the buttons on his trousers, she admired his flat, tight stomach, his large, capable hands. When he pushed his pants down, taking his smalls with them, she admired much more. That he was mightily aroused was readily apparent. His long, hard cock was standing proud and tall, pulsing with impatience, jutting out from his body, aiming at its intended target.
“If you’ve made a mistake in coming in here like that, now would be the time to tell me. By the time I climb onto that bed, it will be too late to effect a change in course for me.”
She was breathing hard, panting really, and warmth was coursing throughout her body, the hunger for him fierce. “I have no reservations milord. I want you.”
“Thorne. It’s Thorne. You and I have an intimate history, I am not milord to you, and well you know it.”
“I want you, Thorne. I want you more than Isolde wanted Tristan.” She parted her thighs in welcome and he could see the dampness in her light brown curls.
He climbed up on the bed and covered her body with his. “Then you shall have me, and I shall have you as I have desired from the moment we met . . . when you so innocently had me picturing you on your knees.”
His lips sought out the silky smooth skin of her neck and he used hot, open-mouthed kisses to win her over, should she be at all on the verge of changing her mind. He would not have been able to bear that, so he used his arsenal of warm, lingering licks on the whorls of her ear to ensure her complete arousal. With the warmth of his body moving over her and husky words meant to seduce, he breathed into her ear, “I want to watch you fall, hear those sweet mewling sounds you make as I give you pleasure and you come for me.”
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